


This Isn't Over

by hoteldestiel



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Other, Pretty much just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoteldestiel/pseuds/hoteldestiel
Summary: Yes it is.Sleep was so far out of reach. Quentin couldn't close his eyes without seeing Eliot's desperate face pleading with him. The betrayal of his own words nestled deeply in his chest, burrowing painfully deeper inside of him when all he wanted, everything he needed, was rest.





	This Isn't Over

**Author's Note:**

> So Holly made this gifset: http://lizardkingeliot.tumblr.com/post/183899353187/4x06-4x08-4x09-4x10 and honestly it ruined my whole soul and so..... this happened.

  _Yes it is._

Sleep was so far out of reach. Quentin couldn't close his eyes without seeing Eliot's desperate face pleading with him. The betrayal of his own words nestled deep in his chest, burrowing painfully deeper inside of him when all he wanted, everything he needed, was rest. 

_This isn't over._

Hadn't he spent the better part of this whole insane fucking situation begging Julia to say something like that, desperately grasping, waiting for someone else to see the importance of getting Eliot back? And now, when she was ready to keep fighting, he was giving up? Who the fuck was he? He waited in the silence of the room he'd commandeered for the night for some cosmic voice to echo, to help him out. None came. He covered his face with his hands and rolled over, the weight of everything they were up against crushing him, paralyzing him, destroying the fraying hold of his hope. 

_Yes it is._

How could he say that? Eliot was alive. He'd seen it with his own eyes. Penny had confirmed it again. Abandoning him wasn't right. Waving the white flag felt wrong, cold, fucked up in the face of everything they'd been through together. In face of the _life_ they'd lived together. But he was tired. So goddamned tired. And tonight, the monster slipped through their fingertips. Again. This time with Eliot's body and the final piece of the puzzle. The last thing it needed, but not to create a body it would vacate Eliot's for. To resurrect _someone else._

Of course it was over. Quentin just hoped the monster would make it quick. If he were dead, he wouldn't be forced to feel the guilt rising in his throat, hot and acidic like bile. Or, no, wait. That was actually bile. He bolted upright and stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of his sad excuse for dinner and the too-many after-dinner drinks emptied from his stomach into the bowl. When his body was done retching, he felt like even more of a shell than he had before when he was staring into the ceiling, waiting for an answer he knew wouldn't come. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, letting his face rest against the cool porcelain, closing his eyes against the relief it brought his flushed face. He saw a mess of dark curls and hazel eyes and a look that screamed _don't let me go_ and his eyes flew open again, a renewed ache radiating in his bones. 

He had almost gotten himself back to bed, peeling the sweaty, dirtied shirt from his back, when he heard the soft knocks at the door of the bedroom. He froze in place, praying that if he just didn't make a sound, didn't move at all, whoever it was would go away. 

"Q?" 

Julia. His muscles tensed further to keep him still. He counted the seconds in his head. _One, two, three, four, fi-_

"Look, Q, I heard you and I'm - I'm coming in, so, you know, deal," Julia said, the doorknob turning before she'd finished speaking. 

Quentin sighed and slumped back onto the bed, not bothering with the covers. Julia opened the door, bringing a growing sliver of light from the hallway with her, and left it slightly ajar as she made her way over to the bed. Quentin kept his gaze on the sliver of light she left near the doorway. That was Julia, Quentin thought, hating how bitter the words sounded in his head, leaving a trail of light wherever she went. It just wasn't bright enough to scare away his darkness, this time. 

"Are you okay?" Julia asked. Quentin felt the foot of the bed shift under Julia's weight, but he kept his eyes on the light. 

"Is that a real question?" Quentin retorted, and the sigh that fell from Julia's lips was familiar. The last time he remembered hearing it distinctly was shortly before he was hospitalized the first time. It was the worried sigh of someone who didn't know how to mother a peer. He wished everyone would stop trying to save him. Where was the monster and its barely contained wrath when he really needed it? 

"No, but you're not telling me anything on your own, so," Julia said. She sounded concerned more than anything else. 

Quentin just shrugged, pulling his gaze from the light in the doorway, settling it on the midpoint between his feet and where Julia sat. 

"You're obviously not okay, but I don't know what to do about it. I'm trying, here, Q." 

"We all tried," Quentin said miserably, "We've all been trying, endlessly, for so fucking long I can't even remember a time when we weren't. And we keep losing." 

"Who says we lost?" 

A scoff ripped from Quentin's throat at that, humorless and filled with all the pain he couldn't find words for yet. _Eliot. Eliot. Eliot._

"The monster wins," Quentin said through gritted teeth, his jaw tight, it had been tight for so long he was surprised it wasn't permanently spazzing, "It got the final piece, and it's not even building its own body. It wins, we lose. We lose, again. I'm tired of losing, Jules." 

"This isn't you, Q," Julia said, reaching a hand tentatively toward him. She rested her palm on his shin and he tugged his legs to his chest, looking away. 

"Don't do that," Quentin said quietly. 

"Don't do what?" Julia asked, and the effort she put into sounding confused stirred something dark and angry inside of him. 

"Don't act like just because you've known me for so long, you can say it's fine and it is." _Like you can say I'm better and I will be._ He wanted to say that, but admitting, out loud, that he wasn't okay was still not an option, even as he felt the last of his hope crumbling around him, burying him alive. 

"Let me help," she said, her voice quiet and soft. Quentin hated it. God, he hated everything. Most of all, he hated himself. 

Groaning, he rolled onto his side, away from Julia, and raked his hands over his face. He closed his eyes, and Eliot's face stared at him as soon as his eyelashes brushed the very top of his cheeks. _I can't. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I can't get you back._ Quentin felt the air as it left his lungs and he opened his eyes, blinking the apparition of the man he loved away.

Julia shifted again, Quentin felt her weight lift off the bed and relief flooded him at the idea of finally being _alone_ again. Instead, she stepped closer. Fuck, he was tired. So tired of letting everyone who mattered down. So tired of disappointing. She knelt beside him, he could feel it even as he faced away from her, and a second later her hand was on his shoulder. 

"I meant what I said, Q," she said, her tone still so soft, so nurturing, so much of what he didn't deserve. "This isn't over." 

There they were. Those fucking words again. Words that were supposed to ignite a fire within him, spur him to action again, make him believe in something he'd clawed at every chance to hold onto for months. They felt like knives in his heart. 

"This _isn't_ over," Julia repeated, squeezing his shoulder. Quentin twisted away from her grasp. 

It had to be. He couldn't take another loss. He couldn't keep begging for scraps when he was desperate for a meal. He couldn't keep hoping just to have it so mercilessly ripped from his hands the very next second. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't. He closed his eyes again, squeezing them tight. At least the Eliot that looked back at him now had that spark in his hazel eyes, that light, the emotion Quentin had missed most of all. He swallowed hard against the heat building behind his closed eyes, clinging to this image of Eliot. Clinging to the last scraps of Eliot's humanity he had access to in his mind, trying desperately to preserve it. Hell, it might be all he had, now. It was probably all he had, now. 

"Yes, it is," Quentin repeated, his voice ragged, his breath acrid from the vomit. 

All he had was the ghost of the man he wanted, haunting him every time he closed his eyes. He didn't know much, but after tonight, he damn sure knew one thing. It was over. 


End file.
